Editor's note: this appeared originally on the author's blog. She always shares her poop stories with us, and I always appreciate them.
Yesterday the smell of shit kept following me like a bum looking for spare change. I sniffed high and low (obviously not low enough), but I was so busy racing here and there that I didn't find the culprit.
Until much later.
I swear I checked the bottoms of my shoes -- my $500 Marc Jacobs boots, to be exact -- but still, when I got home and took them off, there it was: shit burrowed into the very expensive grooves of Marc Jacobs' sole.
Still busy and just a bit grossed out, I took off said boot and put it in the sink with the faucet running directed at the sole, figuring the water would dilute the shit and that I would not have to sit there and manually scrub it out of the nooks and crannies with my ex's toothbrush. I wear them in rain and no problems, right?
However, I didn't want to watch the process that the shit was going to go through to get from a hard sticky mass to a watery liquid that would ooze down my drain. So I got on the computer and started working.
About ten minutes later, I figured the boot would be nice and clean, so I entered the bathroom and overturned the boot. Ugh! Shit still there! The water hadn't gotten even lukewarm.
So I turned the hot on full blast and left the room again.
About ten minutes later, I noticed the overwhelming smell of new car wafting through my bedroom. I knew something had gone amiss. Running into the bathroom, there it was. The boot. A cooked boot like a Dahmer head.
The water had apparently gotten so hot that the leather peeled back off of it, exposing its white cushiony underlying structure. The water had damaged it so much and had shrunken the leather so badly that the boot was now half its size, scrunched like a senior with osteoporosis.
Speechless and overwhelmed, I picked up the waterlogged boot and wrapped it up, half to memorialize it in decent burial, and half to make sure shit-soaked water wouldn't drip on my floor so the dog could lap it up.
But lo and behold, while the boot itself -- a $500 boot, finely crafted of the sturdiest materials -- could not withstand the heat, obviously the shit was far more indestructible. There it was, not even half-melted, encrusted into the soul, mocking me with its brown stare.
So now I am left with a dilemma. Clearly I should toss the foul, misshapen, and handicapable boot. But the other: what to do with it? I mean, that is basically a $250 boot. Do I try to sell it on eBay with the title "MARC BOOT FOR ONE-LEGGED FASHIONISTA -- The perfect boot for Heather McCartney?" Do I try to return the pair and simply say that the boot couldn't hold up to *ahem* rain? Do I hunt down the dog or the (I am about to throw up a little in my mouth) HUMAN that was the one responsible for the shit in the first place?
Ah, the dilemmas of the ramifications of shit.
Before shit:
After shit: